


Creature of Fire

by EternalFangirl



Series: Kissed By Fire [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And then Ghost's monster dick, And you are coming with me, Bestiality, Degradation, F/F, F/M, Humiliation, I am going to hell, Multi, Object Insertion, Objectification, Other, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, copious amounts of sex for Catelyn, go big or go home, like so much of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-22 18:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11973522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalFangirl/pseuds/EternalFangirl
Summary: Sansa hated looking at Red, and her husband was accommodating enough to move his toy to the kennels. He wasn't interested in her anymore, but Ghost was.There were no other direwolves left this far south, but there was still Red. He had torn her apart the last time, but this time, Sansa was ready to help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have changed a minor detail in the previous installment of this series. Jon has had Red for about five years rather than nine.

Sansa’s wedding was as beautiful as she had always imagined.

 

She was marrying a prince, the  _ real _ Prince, not a spoiled brat like Joffrey. Jon wasn’t a cruel little boy, he was a man who had proven himself in battle against the White Walkers, who would ascend the throne after his aunt the Queen. There were songs about him, about the way he had ridden Rhaegal north into the lands of always winter, defeating the enemy and saving the realm of men.

 

In short, he was perfect.

 

Sansa wasn’t even under any pressure to make heirs. Jon had an heir, and little Robb had all her love and support. In the two weeks she had spent in Winterfell, she had fallen in love with the little prince. With Jon’s hair and her eyes, he looked exactly like the heir to Winterfell should, and she was glad. One day, little Robb would be king. A kind and gentle one, with a core of steel, like his father.

 

Sansa knew Jon was surly and moody, but her father had been the same, and she knew smiles meant nothing. A smiling face could hide cruelty inside, and a scowling one could hold love. She knew this. Besides, Jon was smiling right now.

 

“You are smiling, husband,” she teased him, her breath ghosting over his ear as she leaned in. “Your men are going to believe I have already begun to change you.”

 

“My men can go hang themselves,” said Jon with a smirk. “It’s my wedding feast, I am married to a beautiful woman, and I am drinking good ale. I will fucking smile.”

 

Sansa smirked. She saw great potential in this marriage.

* * *

 

Sansa didn’t like looking at Red.

The name suited her, she supposed. Red’s hair was still that color, though a little more burnished than her own. There were often red--and black--bruises all over her too. It wasn’t because she struggled when she was used, Sansa knew that. It was because men were often too crude when they used her, eager and impatient. The bruises suited her.

Sansa had bruises too. She had endured for too long, chained in a dungeon because Joffrey liked seeing her helpless. He had refused to fuck her, but he had humiliated her, degraded her, ruined her in every other way. He had known her virgin cunt was a very good bargaining chip, to be used as payment for some favor down the line. So he had used her mouth. It wasn’t his favorite mode of humiliation, but he had liked it when she choked and tears leaked out of her eyes. He had mostly been interested in the bruising and the cutting. It had seemed to arouse him more than her mouth did, and Sansa had learned to endure. 

She had hoped for Robb and her mother to rescue her, at first. Dreaming of a battle for her sake, where she was the princess who needed to be rescued and Joffrey the dragon that needed to be slain. She had known they would come for her, as soon as they could. She had waited, her confidence dwindling, till it soured into rage at being abandoned in the clutches of the enemy. Robb hadn’t come running for his sister. He had left her to rot. She had been the perfect daughter to her mother, gentle and kind and proper, and she had been left behind like she meant nothing, to suck the cock of Robb’s enemies and bear the brunt of his anger. She had sat quietly and screamed in her head, imagining retribution: against Joffrey, against Cersei… and then against Robb and Catelyn too.

When help came, it was the dragons who had swooped in to rescue her. The Dragon Queen had laughed when Joffrey had begged her for mercy, then given him to Sansa. 

“He had you at his mercy for seventeen turns of the moon,” she told Sansa with a gentle smile. “You can keep him for seventeen months yourself, and then I will burn whatever remains of him.” She had reached out a hand and grabbed a handful of Cersei’s hair. Cersei had hissed, but continued to kneel at the Queen’s side. “They will die together.”

Sansa had curtsied deep with a gentle smile. “I had better get started, Your Grace,” she had said.

Joffrey was dead now, as was his mother. She had learned a lot from the Dragon Queen in the years they had lived together. She was a friend to Dany, perhaps the only one she had. They had taken their revenge together, exacting payment for every slight, real or imagined. 

But Jon had claimed her mother.

She couldn’t begrudge him that, she supposed. He  _ had  _ told the Dragon Queen about Sansa’s predicament, had brought his dragon Rhaegal to her rescue. He deserved to have Red, for it was all that remained of the woman who had tormented him throughout his childhood, looking down her nose at him when she deemed to look at him at all.

But none of this meant she liked looking at Red. The stupid thing was always confused around her, perhaps recognizing her, or trying to. When Sansa had first seen her, she had yelled at her, raging at her mother for abandoning her in the hands of her enemies. It had taken her a while to see that Red was too stupid to understand, too broken to remember.

Her husband hadn’t used Red since their wedding, for they had been too busy themselves. Jon was a gentle, caring lover, the kind from songs and fables long forgotten. He was patient and kind, thoughtful and energetic. With him, Sansa believed in the stories and the dreams again.

When she looked at Red, the beautiful dream shattered and she was back in that dungeon, waiting for her mother to come free her. She didn’t want Red haunting her. She certainly didn’t want her occupying a corner of her husband’s chambers.

“I don’t want Red in your chambers anymore,” she whispered in Jon’s ear one night, while he was thrusting inside her. He didn’t stop, but his grunt was answer enough. 

Red must have understood her words, for she whimpered pitifully from her corner. Sansa threw a cup at her. The sound of it hitting the mark made her come.

* * *

Jon moved Red to the kennels.

Sansa was soon made aware by blushing serving girls that Jon had decided to give away her cunt, finally. The smallfolk took great advantage of their Prince’s generosity, for Red’s service was free of charge. She was paraded around Winterfell, used and abused by all, but she never entered Jon’s chambers again. Sansa loved her husband for that.

“You don’t have to give her up, you know,” she said to Jon one spring evening in his solar. “I am angry at her, that doesn’t mean I will mind you using her. I just don’t want to  _ see  _ her.”

It took Jon a few seconds to figure out who she was talking about. He smiled. “I know,” he said. “She was the means to an heir really. We have Robb. I have no more use of her.”

“Isn’t enjoyment reason enough?”

Jon’s smile was hot and private. “I enjoy myself with my lady wife, who will give me more children.” His gaze raked her body, and suddenly Sansa wanted to leap into his arms. “Red is useless. Ghost lusts after her more than I do.”

“Ghost wants to… use her?” she thought about the idea, surprised and intrigued. She had never thought about an animal... 

Jon smiled. “He does. He  _ has _ . But he almost tore her apart, and Sam said if he did so again Red would become barren.”

Sansa thought about how  _ enormous _ Ghost was, and understood. “And you wanted her to have children… But that was then, wasn’t it? Before Robb?”

“I want her to have a hundred babes,” said Jon hotly. “I want her to always be heavy with a child, a bastard whose father she can’t name. Red can breed for as long as she lives, with her bastard get crying and wailing all over the castle, demanding attention and getting none.”

Sansa nodded and asked no more. She understood his need for vengeance, but if everything happened as Jon intended, Red would have too many bastards strewn about. The Battle for the Dawn had nearly decimated their men. Red’s boys could be taught to fight, and her girls… well, they could help in the running of the castle, or work in the brothels of Winter Town. Perhaps one of them could take Red’s place when she died.

This would be for naught if Ghost didn’t manage to stay away from Red. The idea of Ghost claiming Red like a bitch was intriguing, making her wet between her thighs. Red would look so small and helpless beneath his powerful body, like Sansa once was. The thought and the vivid image of it in her mind sent a surge of lust through Sansa.

She set aside her sewing and decided to seduce her husband.

* * *

Sansa couldn’t stop thinking about it.

 

“Do you think she should be yours?” she asked Ghost the next time she brushed his fur. “You deserve a mate, don’t you? And there are no direwolves left this far south.” When the Wall had still been standing, there had been six pups, but now Ghost was the only one that remained. “It must get lonely.”

 

Ghost, as usual, said nothing. His adoring eyes looked at her like he understood her though. She continued brushing him, dreaming of Red trapped beneath him. Jon was connected to Ghost, in a way she barely understood. Did he feel the direwolf’s lust. She hoped there was a way to let Ghost have his way with Red. Rough treatment can lead to tearing, she knew. Joffrey had ended up tearing the edges of her mouth. Sometimes, even her gums had bled. But when she took Jon into her mouth, he was caring, and he never demanded. It was so much more different when it was on her terms.

 

Maybe it was possible, just not in the way it had happened before.

 

When she went to Sam, it took her several seconds to even frame her questions. He waited patiently while she stumbled over her words, then asked her, sheepishly, if she was with child.

 

“No!” she said, groaning. “I was just wondering… I have heard the serving girls talk about… things they do… in bed. I wanted to ask about that.”

 

“Oh,” said Maester Sam, nodding. His fleshy face turned purple, but he tried to sound professional. “What seems to be the matter, my lady?”

 

“I heard them talking about oil… they use it to stretch themselves…?”

 

Sam’s face scrunched up in worry. “It hurts? When you… well. I can speak to Jon. I will tell him--.” He suddenly looked angry with Jon. 

 

This wasn’t going at all like Sansa had intended. Jon and Sam would talk, ruin her surprise… She didn’t want that happening. “It doesn’t hurt! I was only thinking of...” She tried to think quickly, but panic was making her stupid. “I was hoping I could have that oil. For when I want to… touch him. It will ease the touch of my hands, yes? Sometimes he is too dry, and--”

 

Poor Sam was gulping, and resolutely looking away from her. Sweat had started to trickle down his cheek. “Well, yes, yes, of course. That… it’s just olive oil,” he said hastily. “I could… I am certain there is some lying about here. Let me get it for you.” He had shuffled away from her before finishing his sentence.

 

Sansa had better things to do with her time than listen to the gossip of serving girls. Dany had taught her that certain substances could lubricate the body’s entrances, but Sansa had never asked what those substances were. Cersei Lannister had been intimately familiar with them, however. Dany had commissioned a large, wooden dragon head for her, that was meant to be tucked away in her cunt at all times. Sansa had gotten used to seeing it there, until it burned, and Cersei with it.

 

She smiled when Sam handed her the jar of oil. She needed to talk to the blacksmith. This was going to be such a nice surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have already written half of the next chapter. This one was just the setup. The next one begins nasty and ends nastier. Will probably post the next chapter in a week, at exactly this time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nymph is the hilarious term for a clitoris by medieval doctors.

It took  _ days  _ of work.

 

The blacksmith had been unknown to her, but he had understood her need and produced the most exquisite chains. When Sansa had first entered the kennels with the chains clinking gently in her arms, the smell had gagged her. It was clear with a single glance that men loved fucking Red. Perhaps the hounds did too. There was seed everywhere--matted in her hair, on her face and on every exposed part of her body. It oozed sluggishly from all three holes.

 

Sansa had left that day, with instructions to wash Red and cut away some of her wildly growing hair, both on her head and around her cunny. She wondered if she should just have Red shaved, top to bottom. But the barber correctly pointed out that they needed her hair when they were using her, to pull her to them. Besides, her hair was the reason for her name.  _ Jon likes red hair. _ She decided she would talk to him about it, later. 

 

The bitch had been far more presentable the next day, though still confused to be out of the kennels and into the open courtyard. Sansa had slapped her hard to focus her. She had been scared of the chains, and balked before Sansa pulled her into place with her hair. It had its uses. She was frail and thin now, making her easy to manipulate without asking anyone for help. It was easy to push her onto her knees, hands clasped behind her back. Some of the stable hands milling about the courtyard asked her if she needed help.

 

She didn’t. The chains were thin and light, with rings in the appropriate places. Red screamed when the blacksmith pierced her nipples, first one and then the other. She fainted outright when he pierced her between her legs, threading the last of the rings through her nymph.

 

When he was done, Red’s nipples were sore and swollen, and her nymph was angry and bleeding. Sansa wondered if it would hinder the birth of her bastards, but the blacksmith assured her the rings could be cut out if needed. For now, they were soldered closed, and chains ran between them, linking Red’s breasts together, and each breast to her cunt. It was a tantalizing picture, a triangle of chains framing her thin body. She hoped Jon would like it.

 

She had her moved to the Old Keep after that. Red wasn’t awake to see her new quarters, but Sansa supposed they were better than the smelly kennels. Red was to be cleaned every night, inside and out, and she would make sure to be the first one to see her every morning. She didn’t want to go around rooting in other men’s seed.

 

Red was more confused than scared the next day, shivering and mewling pitifully when Sansa sat next to her and began to open her. She was loose, far more than Sansa herself was, and three of her fingers entered Red’s hole without much trouble. She tried and failed to introduce her last one, with Red wailing for her master.

 

Sansa paid her no mind, intent on her work. She had asked for a plug to be made too, with a wolf head as pommel. The olive oil greased it well enough, and even though Red shied away at first, it fit her well. It was wide, obscene, and probably painful. The men knew Red would be plugged every morning, and was going to remain that way for some time. The first man to use her was meant to pull the plug out and put it aside on the ledge she had designated for it. Sansa wondered if it would be better to do this at night, keep Red plugged for hours on end. She needed to get comfortable with the thing, and fast.

 

The plug was tapered, and it was only halfway in at this point. Sansa decided she would come back at night, to plug Red up after she was cleaned.

* * *

 

Red was very attached to her master, that much was easy to see. She mewled and cried for him, keened and begged. All without words. It was pitiful but fascinating to see, the way Red would lick her hands and bump her nose into Sansa’s crotch for a little bit of soothing. It wasn’t as though Sansa was hurting her. She was only stretching the cunt, but apparently it was too much for Red. She was completely overwhelmed, and in the end Sansa gave her a little plug for her mouth too, to suck on for comfort while Sansa worked behind her. Red was happy with it, and she showed her gratitude by licking Sansa’s boots. It made Sansa smile. 

Sansa worked quietly at nights now, and the plug was slowly making it’s way up Red’s cunt. She had stopped putting oil on the plug by the third night, choosing instead to drizzle the oil directly into Red’s gaping hole. She peaked often from the sensation, amusing Sansa.

The day Red took in all of the plug, Sansa whooped in success. Red jerked, trying and failing to get comfortable. Her face was blotchy with tears, but she stared at Sansa in awe, cracking out a small, confused smile. It grew when Sansa stroked her back, trying to calm her. “You did it, girl!” she said. “Look at you! It’s all in you!”

Red smiled again, eager. Sansa knew she was just imitating her, like a dumb animal, but she didn’t mind at all.

She could barely wait for morning.

* * *

“I have a surprise for you,” she murmured against her husband’s naked torso a couple of hours later.

“Hmm?” Jon was still dazed, and she couldn’t stop her satisfied smirk. She had attacked him in his chambers when she had come back from her evening “walk,” barely giving him time to know what was happening before she had him pinned to his furs and her hands were on his cock. She rather thought he had appreciated it.

“A surprise,” she repeated, placing a small kiss on his sweaty chest. “Tomorrow morning. For you and Ghost.”

“Why, thank you, my lady wife,” he said with a quick grin.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she replied with a private smirk.

* * *

To say that Red was happy to see Jon was an understatement.

Sansa wondered about the beginnings of their relationship as she saw Red trying and failing to crawl towards Jon. What had she been like, at the start, when there was still a whole lot of Catelyn left in her? How had Jon broken her down into this pathetic creature? She was struggling, clearly, because of the huge plug in her, but she was still trying. Sansa had ordered bells to be hung off of every ring in Red’s body, and the sound of her struggle was a charming jingle.

Jon’s eyes widened when he saw the clear outline of Red’s plug bulging out of her stomach. “Sansa,” he said in awe. “What did you do?”

“I made her useful again,” Sansa declared as she strode forward and dragged Jon with her. “Not for you, but for Ghost.”

Ghost’s ears perked up when he heard his name. His intelligent eyes followed them, narrowing when Jon laughed out loud. He had seen the wolf head pommel of Red’s plug.

“Cute,” he said. 

“Pull it out,” she replied, and grinned when Jon did. His eyes widened when he saw just how wide the plug was, when he realized the length. Red moaned, thrusting back in an unconscious attempt to keep her beloved plug where it belonged. Did she do this every morning, with whoever claimed her first?

“Sansa...” Jon was currently speechless, something she took immense pride in. “What--How--You…?”

“For Ghost,” she said, and the wolf in question decided to come bump his head against her chest to show his gratitude. The smell of his bitch must have distracted him though, for he stepped away to inspect her. Sansa held her breath as she watched. She really, really wanted Ghost to like his gift.

“I had a… a stand made too,” she admitted shyly.

It took Jon a few seconds to look away from where Ghost was sniffing Red’s gaping hole. “A stand?”

“For her,” she said, nodding to the apparatus. She saw him frown, and soothed her hand down his arm as she let him look and figure it out for himself.

It could be confusing, she knew. It was meant to keep Red’s face plastered to the ground while she knelt, her ass elevated, making it easy for Ghost to use her. There was a leather strap to tie her head down in position, as well as a couple of leather cords to bind her wrists and to her ankles, making sure she didn’t interrupt the wolf. Of course, Sansa was certain Red would try to balk the first few times, so there was an elevated bar to make sure Red’s ass stayed up. The bitch would have no leverage to move at all.

“You have thought of everything,” whispered Jon finally. His reverent tone made Sansa wet between her legs. “Ghost, to me,” he said when Red began to whine. “This is Sansa’s show. We mustn’t ruin it.”

Sansa gave a sassy little bow to both husband and wolf. “If you would take your seat, my prince?”

Jon raised an eyebrow and eased himself onto the sole chair, Ghost panting excitedly at his side.

Sansa led the bitch to her stand, soothing a hand down her flank when she began to whine and buck. Ghost let out a low growl, and Red suddenly shut up, panicked. She meekly let Sansa strap down her head, and held her wrists still to be tied to her ankles. Then she began to whine in fear again.

“You’ve shaved her?” Jon said when he noticed how little hair adorned Red’s cunt.

“Yes,” Sansa said while she tightened the leather straps. “It was all too filthy to work with, before.”

Jon hummed in appreciation. “Go on, boy,” he said softly. “I can tell how much you want to.”

Ghost padded forward silently, his watchful eyes taking Red in, the gaping hole and the prone position. He sniffed her deeply, licking her rump.

“Where will you sit?” Jon asked quietly, entranced by the proceedings. In reply, Sansa dropped into his lap, her back pressed to his chest, her thighs bracketing his. Jon let out a surprised grunt before his hands slid around her waist to hold her steady against him. They watched quietly, almost holding their breath together.

And then Ghost mounted Red.

Sansa had expected her to scream, or struggle, but Red just let out a deep whine… of pain or ecstasy, Sansa couldn’t tell. She didn’t struggle in her bonds, not much, at least not until Ghost scrambled to grab her and ended up giving her long cuts from his claws. Her struggles were, of course, useless, and they subsided again when Ghost let out a warning growl.

It was obscene to watch, because Ghost was  _ enormous. _ He was far bigger in proportion than the dogs in their kennels, and Sansa wondered briefly if all her work had been enough. She didn’t want Ghost to end up destroying Red’s cunny. She wanted Red’s bastard’s all over Winterfell, like Jon had talked about. 

Ghost wasn’t the only one enjoying himself, Sansa realized after a couple minutes of the wolf’s hard thrusts. Jon’s hard cock was a warm presence at her back, and she leaned back into it, thrilled with her husband’s response. When he sucked in a breath at her ministrations, she tilted her neck to whisper in his ear.

“There’s a surprise for you too,” she said, her eyes still glued to the way Ghost was fucking his bitch. Jon made a questioning sound, probably unable to do any more, so Sansa helped him along. She sat up to bunch her dress to her thighs, then grabbed Jon’s hand to push it the rest rest of the way up to her waist. He started when he realized she wasn’t wearing her smallclothes.

“Sansa...” he groaned, his fingers testing her readiness. His eyes left the spectacle before them to stare in her eyes adoringly. 

“I am ready,” she said, her quick hands unfastening his breeches. “Hurry now, husband. Ghost won’t last long.”

She keened in ecstasy when Jon entered her with a single, long thrust. Despite her best intentions, her eyes slid shut. She could still hear, though, the tinkling of the bells that adorned Red, the vulgar sounds of Ghost’s cock as it slid in and out of the gaping hole, the way Red whined and sobbed in agony… and much, much closer, she could hear Jon’s pants and groans.

“Perfect,” he said, his voice coarse and please. “You are perfect, my sweet girl. You know that? Perfect.”

His words added to the fire in Sansa’s belly, and she began to move. It was a difficult position, but Jon helped, one of his hands at her waist and the other toying with her cunny. She writhed against him, listening to the bells, to the way Ghost panted.

“Open your eyes,” Jon panted in her ear, and she did.

Ghost was close, she could see. Jon’s hands kneaded her still-clothed breasts as she watched the direwolf get more and more aggressive. Red’s whines had quieted down completely, her fear palpable. Sansa wondered if she was just waiting for it to be over. She was drooling, her eyes leaking fat tears, but without a sound. She was just lying there, taking what was being done to her, like a ragdoll. Sansa was proud.

It was Red Sansa stared at, small and helpless beneath Ghost, just like she had imagined. She grabbed Jon’s forearms as she moved, eyes glued to the helpless bitch, her breath hitching as she came with a long, drawn out moan. She relaxed against Jon, but he wasn’t done with her yet, so he held her up and thrusted into her with abandon, the obscene sounds adding to those Ghost was making, his lips on Sansa’s exposed shoulder.

Man and wolf finished together, with similar howls of rapture that sent flutters to Sansa’s stomach. She smiled tiredly when Jon slipped out of her, twisting her face for a languid kiss. Ghost was still tied to Red, and the knot must have hurt more than the rest of this did, because Red was suddenly active again, whining and begging without words. Sansa ignored her. She had succeeded. She had won. There was a sense of triumph in her, something more than giving Ghost a hole to fuck. It was as if revenge was finally hers. The image of Red trapped under Ghost was like a balm to her soul.

“You are amazing, my sweet wife,” Jon whispered in her ear as his seed started to seep out of her.


End file.
